


Blue

by the_genderman



Series: Panchromium [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-War, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 14:50:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13503804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman
Summary: Blue. Blue movies. Blue skies. Blue eyes. Once in a blue moon. Blue ticket discharge. Bucky was feeling distinctly blue, but what shade?





	Blue

**Author's Note:**

> Granted, I haven't read _all_ the fanfic out there, but I haven't seen a lot of pre-war stuff where Bucky's the one dealing with self-confidence issues. Like, what if his reputation as a ladies' man is a (somewhat over-exaggerated) cover because he's afraid of what people will think of him otherwise? He's not a queen, he's not swishy (hello, stereotypes), you'd probably never know just by looking at him (but that still doesn't change the fact that he's got that nagging "but they _know_ " hanging over him). And the military was a difficult thing. He wants to do his duty to his country, he's not afraid to fight, but if the Army found out, there would likely be serious repercussions. The "Blue Ticket" or blue discharge (so named because it was printed on blue paper) was neither an honorable nor dishonorable discharge, and was frequently used to remove gay men (and women) from the military. I read somewhere (I forget where) that cities like New York and San Francisco (port cities, lots of soldiers shipping out) had their gay populations grow significantly during WWII because the men and women who were rejected from the induction boards or discharged for being gay might feel that they were unable to return to their hometowns because _everyone_ knew what the blue discharge was for, so they stayed. And in order for a draft-aged man to get a job at home in WWII, he had to be able to show his employer the reason he wasn't off fighting, whether it be discharge papers or a medical rejection.

The days passed tense and strained. Steve _knew_ Bucky was hiding something, _knew_ there was something eating away at him, but he couldn’t seem to draw it out. He wanted to help, but he couldn’t figure out how to get him to let him in. Bucky had never been this closed off to him, _ever_. Steve didn’t want to let him go off to Basic with whatever this was still hanging between them, but he just couldn’t seem to find an opening. Anger and hopelessness fought inside him; anger that Bucky would _deliberately_ isolate himself, and hopelessness that he was running out of time to find out what the problem was before Bucky shipped off and left this sour cloud of mistrust hanging over their apartment that no amount of cleaning or airing out would dispel.

The cloud finally burst on the last night. 

Bucky had packed his bag for the morning and headed off to bed a little early with the excuse that he never had been able to sleep on trains, so he might as well get as much in now as he could. Steve shrugged a “See you in the morning, then” and returned to his book. It was barely 9:30 pm and _he_ wasn’t tired yet.

At 9:39, Steve realized that, with their walls as thin as they were, Bucky could probably still hear the radio playing. He got up, crossed to the radio, and clicked the dial off. He didn’t need music to read by, and even with things the way they were, there was no need to be deliberately rude. He returned to the couch and let the silence settle over him.

9:47 pm and Steve paused, stock still and listening carefully. That it was his good ear towards the bedroom was probably the only reason he had caught the sound, barely louder than a whisper. It almost sounded like a muffled sob. He noted the page, closed his book, and rose slowly, noiselessly to his feet. Avoiding the creaks and squeaks in the floorboards, he crossed to the bedroom door. 

There it was again. Closer now, he could hear it much clearer. A hitch on the inhale, a quaver on the exhale. The last time Steve could remember Bucky crying, he was eight years old, and had broken his arm falling off the fire escape. Even then, he had tried to hold it back, swallowing the pain and mopping his eyes with his shirt cuff, stifling the tears that threatened to burst forth. (Later, when Steve had asked, Bucky had simply answered “Dad says boys don’t cry.”) Steve was torn. He ought to respect Bucky’s privacy, let him have his moment alone, but if it was bad enough that he was crying, then it must be _bad_.

Steve turned the knob slowly until the latch slipped free and the door swayed opened a crack. He pushed the door a little further and peered into the darkness. Bucky was silhouetted in the faint light filtering in through the curtains, lying on his side with his back to the room.

“Bucky?” Steve whispered, almost hoping he wouldn’t hear him.

Bucky startled, immediately scrambling up to face the intrusion. “God _damn_ it, Steve. You weren’t supposed to hear—go away!” he shouted, before collapsing back down into his pillow.

Steve took a half step back, feeling the force of Bucky’s words. He hesitated a moment, making up his mind. He entered the room, crossing to kneel next to Bucky’s bed.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked, wanting to reach out, to touch his friend, to offer comfort, but he held back. He didn’t want to make Bucky feel weak, like he needed to be coddled. He knew how much Bucky hated being pitied.

“I said go _away_ ,” came Bucky’s muffled reply. The words were the same, but the vitriol had left them.

“Yeah, not happening,” Steve said, not moving. He could still show his concern for his friend without smothering him. “What’s wrong, Buck?”

“Whadya _think_ is wrong?” Bucky asked rhetorically, still face-down in his pillow.

“I don’t know, because you haven’t told me,” Steve said, trying to draw an answer out of Bucky.

Bucky rolled onto his side and reached out to click on the bedside lamp. Steve could see the red around his eyes, the furrow between his brows from trying and failing to hold back the tears. He glared at Steve, angry and embarrassed that he would interrupt him, but secretly glad of an understanding (and discreet) ear. He sighed. “I’m joining the Army, Steve. Take a guess.”

“Well, you’re not afraid to get your nose dirty. You’re not afraid to fight,” Steve mused. “Are you getting homesick already?”

“Quit joking, Steve, I’m bein’ serious,” Bucky said, clambering up into a sitting position and squinting down at Steve.

“I am, too,” Steve said, rising from his (getting more and more uncomfortable) position on the floor, and sitting down next to Bucky. “I’d give anything to be in your place, to serve, you know that. Why don’t you want to go?”

“I’m not a coward,” Bucky said, softly but with force.

“I know you’re not,” Steve said, arms at his sides, hands planted firmly on the edge of the mattress. Let Bucky reach out first.

“I ain’t scared to fight,” Bucky said, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to drive out the traitorous thoughts. “That’s not it. But, Steve, I’m scared. I wanna do my duty, but I don’t wanna be there if they don’t want me.”

“Of course they want you, Buck. You passed the Draft Board examination. You’re going to Basic.”

“Don’t play dumb, Steve, you know damn well what I meant. You _know_ they’ll kick me out if they find out. There ain’t enough women in the Army for me to keep up the illusion. I can’t swear I won’t be tempted, Steve. I can’t swear I won’t get lonely. How’m I supposed to get a job if I come back with a blue ticket, huh? What will my _family_ think? You really think I’d be welcomed home if they found out? Why do you think I moved out so quick? It wasn’t just to make my own way and so they wouldn’t have to pay for my meals and the roof over my head. Might as well brand me, ‘F for fairy’,” Bucky huffed.

“Well, it’s a bullshit rule,” Steve said with emphasis. “The Army’s lucky to get you; you’ve got the strongest moral center and the sharpest eye of anyone I’ve ever met.”

“’M still queer,” Bucky sniffled, a slight smile tilting the corners of his mouth.

“And I still don’t think it’s as obvious as you think. It’s not like it makes any difference,” Steve said, “as long as you can _shoot_ straight.”

“Steven Grant Rogers, was that a _pun_?” Bucky said, leaning back and turning his head to face Steve, actually laughing a little. “Look at you, picking up on the new slang.”

Steve just grinned, pleased that Bucky had gotten his play on words.

“Sorry you had to see that,” Bucky sniffed, pulling himself back together. “It just all hit at once that I’m really actually going off to Basic tomorrow, and I dunno.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” Steve nodded. “And if you’re letting it out now, you ought to be fine again tomorrow. Sometimes you just gotta get it all out and start fresh.”

“Thanks. Alright, I guess I really will try to get some rest now,” Bucky said. “I need my beauty sleep; when I get on that train tomorrow, I can’t _look_ like I was crying myself to sleep.”

“Yeah, I should probably sleep, too,” Steve said, standing up and crossing over to the dresser where he pulled out his pajamas.

“G’night,” Bucky said, rolling onto his side and facing away from Steve to give him a little privacy to change. “Turn off the light when you’re done.”

“I think that goes without saying,” Steve laughed.

“I meant the one in the front room,” Bucky shot back.

“Well, if you _insist_ ,” Steve sighed dramatically as he headed back into the front room to get the light.

\--------------------------

Steve heard the bedsprings groan as Bucky rolled over _again_. “I thought you said you were gonna be _sleeping_ ,” he teased, his voice low.

“Trying,” Bucky whispered back. “Just can’t get comfortable. Can’t get relaxed.”

Steve paused, thinking. Considering. There might be something he could do.

It had come up, a few years ago, in passing. Bucky had had just enough to drink to peel back a couple layers of inhibitions. Not quite drunk enough not to know what he was saying, though. Steve had been endlessly thankful that they had made it home, made it out of the public’s scrutiny, before the alcohol had loosened Bucky’s tongue enough to profess his feelings. _You know Steve, if I were the settling-down type, and you weren’t so keen on the ladies, there’s no one else I’d rather settle down with._ The next day, when he’d sobered up a bit, Bucky had apologized profusely, even going so far as to offer to move out, before Steve had managed to get a word in edgewise and convince him that he didn’t mind; didn’t even mind that he felt that way about him. That he didn’t think any less of him. _You’re a good man, Buck. Who you’re stepping out with doesn’t change a thing. Just, don’t get yourself arrested; you know we can’t afford bail._

And, well, Steve wasn’t entirely uninterested. He just hadn’t quite realized it at the time.

“Still awake?” Steve asked quietly, a couple minutes later.

“Take a wild guess,” Bucky muttered back.

“You don’t have to say yes—obviously—but, if it won’t make things weird between us, if you want me to come over there, I will,” Steve offered, not quite naming the feeling, the act. Even here, alone together in the whispered darkness of their apartment, he found it difficult to speak the words out loud.

“Come over here and do what?” Bucky asked tiredly.

“Help you relax,” Steve answered.

“Oh- _kay_ then,” Bucky said slowly. “What are you gonna do, rub my back? Because I really don’t think you’re offering the _other_ thing.” 

“What if I were?” Steve gambled.

Bucky was silent.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, I heard ya… I think.”

“You did.”

“Really? Since when?” Bucky asked, surprised.

“I suppose, probably my whole life, but I only really started to realize it a couple years ago. You… got me thinking. I’m certainly not swearing off the fairer sex, but there’s some things I realized I couldn’t ignore anymore,” Steve admitted.

“Alright, but just so ya know, I’m still not ready to settle down, especially now with the war.”

“What about just for tonight? No strings attached. I help you out, you get me some experience.”

Bucky was silent again.

“Did I say something wrong?” Steve asked.

“I’m thinking, Steve, jeez, gimme a minute. I mean, there’s some stuff that really ain’t a good idea right now. I _do_ get pretty relaxed after getting fucked out, but I don’t like the idea of sitting in a train, being jostled around only a few hours later.”

“I’m not that big…” Steve began.

“Trust me, they all feel bigger than they look,” Bucky said with a self-deprecating almost-laugh in his voice.

“Ok, maybe… uhh…” Steve trailed off. There were other options, he knew that. But he didn’t think it would be very conducive to sleep to ask Bucky to suck him off, and he wasn’t sure he was quite ready to reciprocate, anyway. And just offering to jerk him off felt too indifferent, not good enough for their last night under the same roof for what could be a very long time. “I don’t know, you’ve got more experience. Most I’ve ever done was when Mary Alice let me finger her after prom. We could try that? Would a finger be too much?”

“I think that could work; how’s your aim?”

“I’ve got a general idea of what to do. You’ll let me know if I’m doing it right?”

“I think you’ll be able to tell,” Bucky laughed quietly. “Vaseline’s on top of the dresser, condoms are tucked way back under my socks.”

Steve climbed out of bed and slowly crossed to the dresser in the dark. He pulled the drawer open and fished around behind Bucky’s socks, feeling for the little cardboard packet. “Why would we need condoms if I’m fingering you?” he asked, genuinely curious. Bucky obviously knew something he didn’t.

“For me. Easier cleanup and no having to sleep in the wet spot. You’ll still have to wash your hands after, though,” Bucky explained. He pushed the covers back and shimmied out of his pajama pants and undershorts. He scooted back, almost up against the wall to let Steve climb into bed with him.

“Mm, that’s smart,” Steve said, lying on his side, facing Bucky, and trying not to accidentally slip off the side of the bed, which hadn’t exactly been designed for dual occupants. He handed the condom to Bucky, who pinched the tip and rolled it on, hard already with the anticipation. Steve unscrewed the cap of the Vaseline jar and dipped his finger in, curling it into the thick grease, trying to make sure he’d get enough so he wouldn’t hurt Bucky. 

Bucky lifted one knee, hooking his leg over Steve’s and making room for him to slip his hand between his thighs. Steve’s left hand rose to touch Bucky’s chest; Steve’s right hand probed cautiously, insinuating fingers between his buttocks. Bucky wrapped a hesitant arm around Steve’s back, gently pulling him closer. With the window behind him, there was just enough light falling onto Steve’s face for Bucky to see the warm, slightly nervous smile on his lips. Just enough light to let some color into the gray night in the blue of Steve’s eyes. Bucky whined a little, trying to keep quiet as Steve began to make small, firm circles around the rim of his anus, slowly and gently opening him.

“How’re you feeling?” Steve asked. “I’m not going too slow, am I?”

“No, you’re good,” Bucky answered. “Slow’s good. It’s a little different than fingering a dame, Steve.”

“I know that. I just wanted to make sure you’re getting what you need.”

“Yeah. So far so good.”

“Good,” Steve echoed, scooting in and pressing his face into the curve of Bucky’s neck, feeling his pulse quicken.

Steve pushed his finger a little harder, the tip sliding inside. He wriggled deeper in, feeling how tight Bucky was, grateful for the Vaseline.

Bucky grunted softly, shutting his eyes as Steve slipped in past his second knuckle. Steve’s fingers were long and thin with knobby knuckles. They didn’t look like much, but with them, he was an artist; he could do anything (including this). The grunt turned into a quiet gasp as Steve crooked his finger, finding his target.

“There?” Steve asked. His voice was the picture of naïve innocence, but Bucky could just imagine the impish grin on his face. Steve knew _exactly_ what he was doing this whole time, didn’t he? The little punk.

“What do you _think_?” Bucky panted out as Steve kept stroking.

“I think you like that, don’t you?” Steve whispered, lips barely grazing Bucky’s earlobe.

Steve had always been confident. He always seemed to know what he was doing and why he was doing it (or at least faked it _really_ well), but Bucky didn’t think he’d heard quite this self-assured, almost cocky tone from him before. The confidence that he knew exactly what he was supposed to do, _and_ the response he expected to elicit from him. Bucky bit back a moan as the pressure continued to build. Steve was gentle but relentless. Bucky clenched his teeth and clamped his hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds he knew were coming. 

“Still doing ok?” Steve asked, slowing his finger, but not stopping.

Bucky nodded, not pulling back his hand, hoping Steve could see the movement in the dark. 

“Trying to keep quiet?” Steve amended his question.

Bucky nodded again.

Steve nodded back and picked up the pace again, massaging little circles around Bucky’s prostate.

Bucky squeezed his eyes more tightly shut until he saw stars, gasping into his hand. His cock twitched and spilled untouched into the condom. Letting his fingers drop away from his mouth, he panted, chest heaving, as Steve caressed him through the aftershocks. 

When Steve pulled his finger out, Bucky lifted his leg, releasing him, letting him crawl back out of bed to go wash up. Bucky shifted onto his back, cock flopping against his thigh as it softened. Steve stroked his cheek with his clean hand before carefully peeling the condom off. Bucky thought it would probably be a good idea to retrieve at least his undershorts, but he always did feel awfully boneless after a good orgasm. He lay there in the dark, eyes closed, breaths deep and slow. 

“Hey, Buck?” Steve’s question was barely audible.

“Yeah?” Bucky murmured.

“Awake enough to let me clean you up a little and try to get your shorts back on?” Steve asked.

“Maybe the first one,” Bucky answered, yawning. “I don’t feel like moving much.”

“S’alright. I can do most of it for you.”

“Alright.”

Bucky felt Steve swipe the damp towel very gently over the head of his cock, cleaning off the remaining come. Steve’s hand under his thigh, lifting his leg up to wipe up the traces of Vaseline from between his buttocks. Then the towel was gone, and Steve was at his feet, coaxing his legs back into his undershorts. Making a supreme effort to help out, Bucky lifted his hips off the mattress to allow Steve to pull his undershorts all the way back up.

“Thank you and g’night,” Bucky mumbled as Steve pulled the covers back up, tucking him in.

“Good night to you too, and what are friends for?” Steve replied, climbing back into his bed and pulling the covers up to his chin.

They were both asleep within minutes.


End file.
